BARBEAU, HORAN AND HALL : THANKS TO ITS THREE STARS, ‘STRANGE SNOW’ HASN’T DRIFTED

It’s possible to stage a contemporary play too many times, but Stephen Metcalfe’s “Strange Snow” is holding up with the wear. After the San Diego Old Globe and Odyssey productions in 1984, last November’s Coast Playhouse revival seemed to mark the last time we’d see it for a while.

But at the Hollywood Playhouse, Glenn Casale’s staging injects Metcalfe’s look at Vietnam’s domestic legacy with a new shot of adrenaline--as if we’d never seen the play before. That could be because Casale’s cast of Adrienne Barbeau, Michael Keys Hall and James Horan broke the show in at the La Mirada Civic Theatre in February. These are actors who have grown roots into their roles.

They’re able to because Metcalfe has prepared the ground well. What on the surface appears to be an insular, kitchen-sink piece on vets coming to terms with the war and a woman coming to terms with herself can be easily viewed from a national perspective. The Flanagan home is Metcalfe’s crib for the American home.

Just as fluidly, Metcalfe’s people serve as particular characters and familiar personae of myth. Martha (Barbeau) is a woman who stuck herself in time and let the sexual revolution pass her by. She is also the complete schoolmarm spinster. Martha’s live-in brother, David (Horan), let the war get to him in the worst way. His war buddy, Megs (Hall), took the bull by the horns--as best he could. They are also the quintessential, beer-with-breakfast working stiffs.

Casale emphasizes another mythic edge--a theatrical one. Hall’s Megs recalls The Gentleman Caller as he deftly sweeps the initially stern, even harsh Martha off her feet. Horan’s David looks as if he just stepped in from a Sam Shepard play (Horan even looks like Shepard), the kind of guy who wears his hangover into the middle of the next day.

But Barbeau’s Martha is the real invention here. With the removal of lines referring to Martha’s excess poundage, Megs’ attraction to her follows naturally. Still, the relationship has to be an uphill climb for him, so Barbeau employs a schoolhouse coldness as a wintry defense. Then, the temperature rise is palpable.

When it looks is if Martha has let Megs slip through her fingers, Barbeau elicits the sad sound and fury of loss with fine, shattering impact. This Martha is really outraged at the suggestion that women like her never fantasize at night.

Hall suggests that Megs might understand that--someday. Megs is crude, rough and wild, but he’s willing to learn. It’s a taller order than you’d think for an actor to fill; Hall knows how to keep the redneck on a short rope, and let the boyish gentleman take over. This Megs instinctually knows how to turn Martha on.

The chemistry’s just right, down to the space itself. From the day it opened, the Hollywood Playhouse was one of the most comfortable mid-size theaters around. It hasn’t stayed open very much since. After the too-large La Mirada, this production has found the proper home.

Nothing much can be done about Metcalfe’s penchant for sentimentality or for carrying a myth too far (you still don’t believe it when David walks out into the snow at the end), but something should be done about Raun Yankovich’s unhelpfully harsh lighting. Joanne McMaster’s set features a very convincing kitchen and a less-than-convincing living room, whereas Chuck McCarroll’s sound design is worth a thousand pictures.

Performances at 1445 N. Las Palmas Ave. run Tuesdays through Fridays, 8 p.m.; Saturdays at 3 and 8 p.m.; Sundays at 3 and 7 p.m., through May 24. Tickets: $18-22; (213) 466-1767.